


Someday It's Gonna Makes sense

by NotObsess_Lie



Category: One Direction
Genre: AU, Drama, F/M, M/M, One Shot, Romance, idk - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotObsess_Lie/pseuds/NotObsess_Lie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He lied to me, cheated on me, hurt me, but all of that didn’t matter because I know deep inside everyone will hurt me, Zayn was just one of those ─ I have chosen ─ that’s worth suffering for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday It's Gonna Makes sense

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So my mate needed a short story for her English class and asked me to write her one. Hahaha! I ended up writing a fanfic instead. Hopefully, he teacher don't know about One Direction. :) xx

          _I guess I saw it coming but I didn’t know it would still hurt this much. There’s nothing I can do now but live with the pain, instead of trying to fix a scar that would never disappear._

_It is true that wounds heal but you’ll forever be marred. And that’s what happened to me._

          “Hello cupcake,” Zayn greeted me with a smile as he placed a kiss on my cheek. I felt the stubble on his chin as our skin made contact. It was something I look forward to that assures me it really is him. Plus that bloody aftershave of his that fries my synapses, making my brain malfunction. Zayn holds my hand ─ his warmth, surging heat throughout my entire body ─ and I remember looking at the palm of my hands and tried to decipher which among the lines there made me lucky to have this boy in my life. “Are you alright?” he asked me as his brows furrowed with worry.

          I simply nodded, not trusting my frontal lobe to form the right words as a response. It was heard enough to act normal with his majestic voice swimming inside my head, but it was another thing to have his hypnotic chocolate eyes on me. I swear, I am not only feeling butterflies now but the whole zoo. It may sound very cliché that I got weak on my knees for him but there’s no other description on what he does to me. I don’t know if he noticed that I look at him as if he hung the moon and the stars and everything in between.

          “How’s the exhibit coming along?” I asked him as soon as I have found my voice back. It was hard to form coherent thoughts and words when he’s gazing at me, as if nothing else in the world matter. I just hope I am not imagining it because he was my world, idiotic as it may sound. “I’m sure it’s going to be brilliant.” I smiled and he gave me one too, just a lot angelic.

          This is one of his many art exhibits and I know how much this means to him. I am very excited and happy for him. He is living his dream to be an artist, going against his parents’ wishes. His parents wanted him to be a doctor but he knew where his true calling is. I look up to him because of that. He had the courage to be honest with himself and he knows what he wants in life.

          Sadly, I didn’t have the guts he has so I kind of went with what was practical. Not that I hate my life. I can’t, especially with Zayn in it. It’s just that, I could have done so much more out of my mundane existence. I do have time and I’m trying my hardest to make the most of what I have so in the end there would be no regrets.

          “I hope so,” he simply says and it disarmed me at how humble he is after doing tons of exhibits. I’m not bragging but Zayn is a great artist. Society’s elite class can testify to that. Some of his paintings and sketches are hanged on the living room of a millionaire’s mansion. “I’ll buy you lunch yeah? So you can go back to class on time.” He smiled teasingly and my heart skipped a beat. He kissed the back of my hand that he was holding and I could have died at that moment.

          Once more, I settled with a nod because my brain was out of order, again. My feet were on Earth but my soul was on the stratosphere, flying higher and higher because of too much bliss. I was in cloud nine and even gravity can’t pull me back. Zayn was the only one that keeps me on the ground so I wouldn’t reach Mars.

          I smiled stupidly to myself as I think of how beautiful our children would be. His chromosomes and my chromosomes would definitely go well. See how I’m losing my sanity over him. Tsk, tsk, tsk… There’s nothing normal when you’re in love. Everything is possible. I haven’t told him ─ because it might freak him out ─ but I’ve already chosen the names for our future children.

          I tightened my grip on him, afraid that he ─ along with his razor like jawlines ─ would suddenly disappear. I don’t want this beautiful human boy to be separated from me. You can say that I’m a bit possessive but you can’t blame me because I happened to grow up from a family with a mass number of member. I was the eldest, it meant I had to grow up and mature fast to help my mother to take care of my 6 younger siblings.

          For once in my life, I have someone to take care of me. Someone who asks me how my day was. I have someone who bothers to know if I’m okay of not. I love my family but it can be very tiring sometimes. I’m only human who needs to be taken care of. Zayn was that nice change who came into my life at the right moment.

          Leaning closer to him as we walk, I closed my eyes for a few seconds and prayed to whatever deity to let me keep him. I know it was selfish. But I need him. I love him. Isn’t that enough reason for this wishful thinking?

**

          Zayn’s art exhibit is next week but he hasn’t sent me an invitation yet, which was weird. I checked my phone in case he had texted or called me. Sadly, there was none. The last message he had sent me was about 5 days, 9 hours, 23 minutes, and 52 seconds ago. Not that I’m counting.

          I am not obsess with Zayn and his gorgeous smile, his long lashes that would cast shadows on his cheeks, his perfectly straight nose, or his sweet voice that caresses my name with so much love. I am simply missing his presence, that’s all. He must be busy and I am not going to be a brat and add up to his troubles. I’m not clingy but of course that irrational part of my wanted to be with him 24/7, 7 days a week, 31 days a month, 365 days a year, or maybe even for the rest of eternity if we ever become vampires.

          I wanted to blame it all on my little mindless heart as I found myself standing outside of the art museum, where Zayn’s exhibit would be held. You can say that the irrational part won. The logical side didn’t put up a fight to be honest. Not at all. It happily waved goodbye at me as it jumps into the pit whole of oblivion.

          It was silly that I feel like a crazed 12-year old who’s stalking her crush. But I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to see Zayn. I missed him. More than he’ll ever know. I can’t help but smile at myself for acting like a love sick puppy.

          And I wonder if he missed me too. Did I even cross his mind? He sure did occupy mine, but I’m not going to tell him. Deep inside I wanted to and I wanted him to say the same. But he isn’t the one who talks about feelings. Boys are like that, I guess.

          He tells me he loves me when I least expect it. He flutters my heart when he kisses my neck. Little things that leaves me satisfied but at the same time wanting for more. And it scares me sometimes at how dependent I am to him. He was a drug to me and I’m addicted. It was not healthy.

          I saw him and all his glory (I make him sound like a god. But trust me, he is an immortal who elegantly fell from Olympus) by the entrance. There was nothing else on my mind but to run up to him and enfold him in a tight embrace. I miss how the curves of his body complements mine like jigsaw puzzle, fitting together. I want to see that look of surprise on his face as he wound his arms around my waist as if it was part of his nature.

          But before I could do that, my heart got ripped out of my chest and was burned into ashes before my very eyes when a tall and pale boy suddenly grabbed Zayn by the collar of his leather jacket and kissed him passionately. The boy’s curls got disarrayed as Zayn racked his hand through them and kissed the pale boy back just as hungrily.

          I feel nauseated by the sight a few meters from me. I have a full view of them both and I couldn’t look away because shock took over me. My hands were trembling as huge drops of tears rolled down from my eyes. I don’t know which hurt more at the moment: Zayn cheating on me or him being gay. I think it was the former.

          Two things came into my mind when the tremor left me. First, was to run away and never see Zayn and his make out buddy again. The second thought was to confront Zayn that very moment so he won’t have excuses. But of course I was such a coward to do the latter and thus, I found myself walking back home to my flat with eyes swollen from crying.

          When I calmed down a bit and my voice doesn’t shake that much, I decided to call my Mom. There might be times ─ as I grew up ─ where I despised her for my unhappy childhood of responsibilities but there is no denying the fact that I love her so much and nothing soothes me more than her. I drunk a lot of water so my voice won’t be that raspy from all the sobbing that I did. It was only 6 in the afternoon according to my wall clock and she must be at home from school now. She’s a high school English teacher in one of the local schools in my small town.

          She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” she says over the phone and hearing her voice makes me want to cry again, but I didn’t. I tried my very best not to because I should be strong. I don’t want her to think that she had raised a weakling.

          “Hey Mom,” I replied, trying hard to make my voice even. I mentally chanted to myself, _You’re strong. You’re strong,_ over and over again.

          “Hey sweetie.” I can hear her smile. “How are you?” she asked in a tone that only mother can do when asking a question. It was a mix of worry and happiness all at once.

          I took a deep breath as quiet as I could and let it out silently as well. “I’m okay.” I bit my bottom lip as the tears threatened to fall from my eyes. I wiped it with the back of my hand and let out another quiet sigh. “How are you lots?” Thank goodness I didn’t stammer.

          “Same old, same old.” I can see her rolling her eyes in a tired manner. It made me smile a little, knowing that nothing much have changed back home. Change is always a scary thing but it remains constant. Something you could never run away from. “Is everything okay?” She sounded like the typical mother again ─ one who gets anxious over their child’s well-being.

          She must have noticed my luck of enthusiasm. Or maybe she has good women intuition. But who am I kidding? She’s my mother, she always knew if something was off. If only she has a clue on what’s wrong.

          “Yeah,” I managed to reply. I badly wanted to tell her everything. How Zayn cheated on me and to top it off, he’s gay. How school was a torture and my professors are of no help at all. I wanted to be 5 years old again so I could complain freely about life, the people, the economy, the government, etc. But I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not even a teen anymore. I’m in the stage between a teenager and an adult. “I just missed you.” And it was true.

          I miss my Mom, my obnoxious little siblings. I miss my family. I’m tired of being alone. I want someone to hug me and tell me that everything’s going to be okay.

          “I miss you too sweetie,” she said in that soft motherly voice of hers that reminds me of the times she’d treat the lacerations on my knee because I feel down again from running after my siblings in our game of ‘It’. She would be very gentle as she cleans my wound and blows it to ease the pain as I try not to cry again because those things hurt more for a 7 year old who doesn’t know much about pain. And with that, I was 7 again, fragile and hurting. “You could always come home okay?” she assured, giving me an option.

          It took every ounce of self-control ─ I have left in me ─ not to give in to that offer, shinning in golden bold letters before my very eyes. There’s nothing else I want than to come home and be with my family. It has been almost two years since my last visit. Travel expenses aren’t cheap and I need every penny for my education. But even if I go home now, nothing would change because there would always be that baggage of pain and I would carry it with me no matter where I go now. If I go home and still be moping, I might as well do it here without anyone seeing it because I don’t want my family to feel my hurt.

          “Soon Mom,” I assured her but I’m more likely to be trying to convince myself than her.

          That night as I lay down in bed I feel wretched. I never felt so drained in my entire life. My whole body ached and my heart seems to be missing now. The last time this happened was when I moved to the city from the country side. I was in a huge city and I knew no one. I’ve only felt alone that time before and I never expected to feel it more strongly now.

          Even as I close my eyes, my brain continued to play that scene of Zayn kissing curly boy. I couldn’t believe t still. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. Based on Kubler-Ross 5 Stages of Grief ─ as I have read once ─ I’m on the Denial Stage. It was too surreal and I wanted it all to go away. I wanted the pain to go away. But of course it won’t.

**

          Two days later, Zayn’s invitation letter arrived. I was a wreck and a walking dead, according to my classmates. I don’t want to go to school anymore and be seen like this. I want a short break from everything and go home. I want to see my family, especially my Mom. She always knew what to say and what to do.

          But my education was important, especially now that I’m on my last year in the university. I had to go to school even though I was feeling the weight of the whole world on my shoulders. My friends knew something had happened but I couldn’t tell them. I’m not ready yet for _that_ confession. Who knew you could deny a problem for so long.

          Nobody forced me to speak but instead my friends showed me that they got my back no matter what. School was a good distraction. My friends must have known that my problem was connected to Zayn because none of them asked me about him. I used to insert his name in every conversation so they must have taken the hint there when I no longer mention him.

          Being all alone in the evenings and early mornings in my tiny flat was the worst. I would sit down on my little couch, after my night shift at Starbucks and think of Zayn. I must be a masochist but I can’t help it when I look around my tiny room, I remember _him_. You couldn’t easily forget someone who gave you so much to remember.

          The shirt I borrowed from him was still hanging by the window. The painting he gave me was staring down at me on the wall. The cups in the kitchen were mostly from him. The rice cooker was from him too because he said it was more convenient for me. It was.

          There was a tiny stack of albums by the player and that was from him too. He wanted me to listen to music and be soothed by it whenever I study. It did calm me. But I could no longer bear to listen to records anymore because it’s like wrist cutting now. I’m building my own pyre as I remember everything: every word, every whisper, every touch, and every kiss. It was getting hard to breathe in this tiny room that even gets smaller at the minute, but at the same time it felt so huge, so bare, and so empty.

          One time I caught myself laughing without humor as sad tears rolled down my cheeks because how ironic it is that the same person who could make you the happiest is also the one who could make you the saddest. Funny isn’t?

          Then one day, Zayn texted me ─ after almost 7 days of no communication ─ that he was excited to see me at his exhibit and that he wanted to tell me something. And I knew what was coming. But, yet again, that tiny irrational part of my brain was hopeful that maybe I was being crazy these last couple of days. Zayn would never cheat on me. And like before ─ being led by that unwise thinking ─ I attended Zayn’s exhibit.

**

          The place was packed with glamorous personalities and all I wanted to do was to go back to my tiny home and have a movie marathon. Crowd overwhelms me. I’m not really a people person because I tend to embarrass myself at such gatherings and with my current state of being emotionally unstable, this just might be my ticket to social suicide.I was drinking the free champagne that comes along with classy events like this one and the alcohol made me brave. I forgot that I’m not wearing a designer dress, that I’m not among my kind, that by going here could mean breaking my own heart again. Instead, with head held high I roam around the vicinity in search for the tan boy with raven black hair.

          And for the first time, since I enter the building, did I notice the paintings on the exhibit. They were all filled with little pieces of someone. The picture I am staring at was the curve of someone’s neck with a mop of curly hair tucked behind an ear. I went on and saw two beautiful emerald irises ─on a canvas ─ that held so much happiness it was surreal but at the same time convincing. And all of them had an abstract background that complements the main subject on the paintings. They were all beautiful.

          But as I was remain glued on to where I was standing, my brain begun to process. This whole exhibit was about Curly. All this time, Zayn was cheating on me. I remember the time when he was so ecstatic because he had found a muse for his exhibit. I just didn’t know that he’ll focus on one person.

          I was hurt and angry that Zayn was able to do this to me. He was lying to me this whole time and that was the worst. He didn’t even bother to scream it to my face that he doesn’t love me anymore.

          Tears freely streamed down my cheeks as realization hit me. Zayn _doesn’t_ love me. It wasn’t just a dagger being thrown at my heart this time. It felt like every limb on my body was being forcefully torn apart. I felt sick.

          I headed for the door because I couldn’t bear to act okay when I’m being burned. What more signs do I need to be convinced that it is all over between me and Zayn?

          “Jane,” a familiar voice called for me. I knew it so well that it has become my favorite lullaby. Of course, I had to turn and face the music. Zayn looked deeply concerned, seeing my tears. I glared at him icily as I can, in the hope that it could inflict pain on him. “I’m so sorry,” he says and that concluded my whole theory.

          Instinct dominated me and the next thing I know, I’ve slapped him on the face. Zayn didn’t flinch, he wasn’t surprised at all. He had this sorry look on his face that was too melancholic, it makes me feel guilty for laying a hand on him. The same fingers that I’ve used before to caress his face delicately ─ as if he was a bubble that would burst at extreme contract ─ had left a red stinging mark. And I was sobbing, really hard.

          Zayn pulled me towards him in an embrace and I struggled to break free but I was too weak. My body shook severely as I cry, not caring that there are other people outside the gallery. He drew soothing circles on my back as he slowly sat us on the cold ground. He keeps murmuring _I’m sorry_ as I continue to cry.

          In the end I stopped trying to push him away as I held unto the lapel of his suit like my life depend on it. He rocked me back and forth as I calmed down, sniffing a little as he hold me close. My head was at the crook of his neck and I can smell his aftershave and there was this new scent on him. He smells a bit of apples.

          “Zayn,” a raspy, male voice calls by the door. Zayn turned his head and I followed his gaze. We were looking at a silhouette of a tall boy with legs that go for miles. The light outside wasn’t that dim so I tried to make out the face of the stranger. It was Curly and when he saw us, he unconsciously took a step aback. “I’m sorry.” Curly stares at Zayn then at me, then back at Zayn as if he doesn’t know if he should continue or just go. It must be very important because despite the heavy atmosphere he says, “They need you inside.” He jerked his head to the entrance.

          Zayn took a deep sigh. “Gwyn is there,” he says. Gwyn is an artist friend of his, the one who helped him with this whole exhibit. “I just need a minute Harry.” Zayn’s face was angled away from my view but I can hear desperation and exhaustion from his voice.

          Harry nodded. It all looked awkward with him standing there and pretending that me and Zayn don’t exist. Maybe it was the poor lighting that made me unsure if the curly haired lad was silently fidgeting and squirming a bit as he tries to act normal.

          “You have to go,” I told Zayn as I untangled myself from him. He still didn’t let go. “Zayn.” My voice cracked a little as I beg him. He released me.

          We stared into each other’s eyes. There were so many things that I wanted to ask him. Tons of emotions flooded into me and the larger part of my brain told me to be angry at him. He lied to me, cheated on me, hurt me, but all of that didn’t matter because I know deep inside everyone will hurt me, Zayn was just one of those ─ I have chosen ─ that’s worth suffering for.

          As if we had an understanding in our silent conversation, Zayn rose up and helped me on my feet. He took out a handkerchief and wiped my tears. He motioned for Harry to come over with his hand and the curly boy did.

          Harry was even more beautiful up close. He has pink plum lips that would make someone wish to taste them. I studied him from head to toe, not in that evil stepmother way, and noticed how long his fingers were. I don’t have a hand fetish but I found that elongated body part elegant. And not only that, he has charisma ─ I no longer wonder why Zayn fell for him.

          Harry was the contrast of Zayn, if you asked me. Zayn was tan, Harry was very pale. Harry was taller and muscular than Zayn. His curls were in disarray, opposite to Zayn’s neatly arranged quaff. I would be lying if I say that they don’t look good together.

          Zayn has this aura of mystery over him that helps with the whole bad boy image, but Harry on the other hand looks like the type who wears his heart on his sleeve. The two are so different yet somehow they harmonized. They balance each other like yin and yang as if they’re mosaics ─ made from unrelated broken pieces that turns into a beautiful masterpiece.

          “Hi! I’m Harry,” he says, a hesitant smile on his lips with deep dimples to match. He looks anxious. “I don’t know if you’re pleased to meet me but I am very please to meet you.” Like Zayn, Harry had this sorry look on his face. And I don’t know why but I had the sudden urge to tell him that he shouldn’t be sorry, he shouldn’t feel guilty at all and I know that I shouldn’t feel like that because I was the victim here.

          It was one of the most awkward moments of my life. I don’t know the etiquette when you met the person your boyfriend is cheating you with. And Zayn isn’t informed of such protocols as well. There was nothing more to say and I’ve taken that as my cue to leave.

          “Goodbye Zayn,” I said as I stared into his hazel eyes. I allowed myself to be lost in them for the last time and after that… I’m moving on. There’s no use of holding on unto the past. No use of holding grudges. “Harry,” I said, acknowledging him and at the same time bidding him farewell.

          These two people hurt me so much that they left cracks at their wake but the good part is that, I didn’t cave in. We would all slip or trip as we journey in life and I’ve chosen to get back on my feet and continue to move forward. And I’ll continue to do so.

          As I was leaving, Harry pulled me into a tight bear hug that surprised me ─ he smelled like apples, I noted, so it must be his shampoo that Zayn was using ─ and then I saw a small smile od affection on Zayn’s lips, making me realize that embracing was a normal thing for Harry. I was jealous for a second because Zayn used to look at me like that, full of love and fondness.

          “I hope you find someone who would make you ask yourself why you’d be better off alone,” Harry whispers to me and placed a kiss on my temple. “I’m sorry for the pain this has caused you.” He hugged me tighter but not in a way that I would be uncomfortable. “And thank you for Zayn,” he added in a tone that sounded like I’m providing him oxygen.

          I waved them both goodbye after that and got into a cab. It would hurt for now but when we meet again in the future, we would laugh about it. I can see them lasting if they can put up with society’s criticism. But I know they’ll be strong. They got each other.

          Me? I got myself. Someone would come along the way somehow. Isn’t that what happens? Zayn’s departure isn’t the end but a new beginning. He left so that someone better could fill in the empty space he left.

 

FIN.


End file.
